Choices
by kitsunekaino-mmerryddeath
Summary: Narcissa knows that there are always choices to be made. She makes one. Better than I'm making it sound, please try it out!


Rating: M

Pairings: Canon

Warnings: Character Death

Solo project by MmerryDdeath

There were decisions that had to be made. Narcissa understood this-she had faced more than her fair share of unthinkable choices in her life. This one had been strangely simple. Her hands still shook, though they looked nothing like her own as she waited in this familiar yet alien room.

Lucius would have helped her, had he been able. Less than an hour ago she had sent an owl, not knowing if it would reach Azkaban, not daring to tell him what she planned in case it was intercepted. Just a few simple words. She hoped he would forgive her.

Narcissa stands, paces across the luscious carpet. This body is awkward, and she is terrified that someone will notice the way she moves. Narcissa tries to imitate the swagger of a terrified seventeen-year-old boy, and nearly trips. She stops, and takes a deep breath.

In her son's room, the quiet is as thick as syrup. Grey eyes flicker over Draco's possessions, the photographs he keeps on his mantel. She recognises his childhood friends, changing in age from children tumbling in and out of the frames to insouciant teenagers.

There is a picture of Millicent Bulstrode, caught off-guard wearing Muggle clothes and smiling embarrassedly. Narcissa wonders what happened there; her chest tightens as she realises that she will never know.

A clock ticks. Draco is long gone - Narcissa sent him away by portkey earlier, to friends of hers in Europe. She has re-routed his bank accounts, left him lists of contacts; people who are useful, people he can trust. He has a good chance of survival.

The doorhandle clicks, and Narcissa forces thoughts of her son to the side. She straightens. Bella lounges against the doorframe, insanity twisting her once loved face into something unrecognisable. For a second she thinks of Andromeda, whom she has not seen in years.

"Come along Draco. The Dark Lord is waiting."

Bella's voice is a shattered creak. Narcissa does not reply. Her deception will be discovered soon, she knows. Every minute that she can give her son counts, every second before Voldemort begins searching gives him a better chance of getting away. Her belly clenches.

She follows her sister, for once able to look down at her messy hair. It feels bizarre. Narcissa wants to reach out, to wrap her arms around Bella as she embraced her son earlier. To say goodbye, or sorry, or something. Anything.

It would give the game away, and Narcissa knows where Bella's loyalty lies. So she tightens her jaw, rough with stubble (when did Draco start growing facial hair?), and walks the corridors of her home. Narcissa wishes that she could see Lucius in person, tell him once more that she loves him. That she does not want to leave him.

Voldemort is in the ballroom of course. It is the most beautiful room in the house, so he will insist on defiling it. A sneer holds her face, and abruptly Narcissa is no longer afraid but furious. This man, this half-blood scum has invaded her home and ripped apart her family! She intends to pay him back, if only a little.

Outside the ballroom she pauses to collect herself; she cannot waver now. In her mind she says one final farewell to the people that she loves, then walks through the doors.

The room is crowded, a chandelier illuminating the motley assembly. Candlelight glints from blank white masks. The Dark Lord is stood upon a dais, raised above everyone.

Bellatrix skips towards him, the others parting before her and jeering at the boy following. Narcissa does not twitch, her face perfectly composed. She does not expect to survive the night.

She reaches the dais and stands facing the intruder. Red eyes glare at her like embers, and she squares shoulders that are wider than she is accustomed to.

"Draco Malfoy."

His voice is soft, light. It mocks her.

"You are here to pledge your loyalty."

Narcissa says nothing. To Voldemort's right, unidentified black eyes fill with momentary worry. Bella stands at his left, as close as she can be without touching him. The silence unnerves the gathered masses, and Narcissa regards this man who has influenced so much of her life.

"Well kneel boy. Hold out your arm."

The Dark Lord gestures gracefully to the floor, and ripples of amusement sound out behind her.

Narcissa raises a single eyebrow; she would have spat if it were not such a vulgar action. She speaks quietly, but her tones carry across the throng and echo from the walls.

"Malfoys do not kneel to scum."

Bella hisses. The man to Voldemort's right (is that Severus?) jerks. Voldemort's face is unreadable, hard as stone. Almost lazily, he points his wand at her.

The pain is excruciating, indescribable. It perforates her, burning glass shoved into her skin. Narcissa locks her knees and holds onto her screams, twitching and shaking but refusing to fall. She staggers when it stops.

"You are very foolish, boy. Do you think with your defiance you risk only your own life? Kneel!"

His voice is amused, his eyes steel. Narcissa's legs are trembling but she holds her ground. With a toss of her head she flicks short hair from her face, meeting his gaze. She does not see realisation dawning in the eyes of the man with the beetle-black eyes.

"No."

Narcissa strokes her wand, concealed in a holster up her sleeve. The silence could be cut with a knife. She can feel the polyjuice beginning to wear off. Fear has entirely left now; there is only with certainty.

Another spell hits her, even more vicious than the last. Narcissa doubles over. She bites her lip until it bleeds and digs her nails into her hands, refusing to scream.

This curse ends faster than the last, and over the remnants of pain she hears shocked exclamations. Narcissa straightens, and Voldemort is suddenly taller. Her clothes hang all wrong from her returned body.

"Cissy?"

Bella's voice is tiny in the tumult, but it is the only one that she truly hears. Narcissa raises her chin defiantly, satisfied by the surprise on the Dark Lord's face. For once he is wordless.

Slowly, Narcissa wipes blood from her mouth, twisting her other hand inside her cloak and releasing her wand.

There is not a tremor in her voice when she talks, no indication that moments ago her lungs were bursting with unvoiced screams.

"Did you really think that I would allow a monster like you near my son? Did you truly believe that after all the years of watching what you have done to my husband, to my sister, I would stand back as you marked Draco?"

"Do you think you can save him like this? Foolish woman! I will hunt him down and he will pay for your insolence as well as his father's failure!"

The Dark Lord is enraged. He shouts out his sentence, spittle flying through the air. Narcissa is unmoved. Her hair gleams among the monochrome of black and white.

"You may _try _to find him, if you wish. You will not succeed."

Narcissa is confident of this; she has contacts that even Lucius does not know of. So long as Draco can reach them...

Voldemort's face becomes a snarl. She know what he intends next - to torture her until she betrays her own family.

Narcissa has never cast an Unforgivable before; in the past she has preferred more subtle means of achieving her ends. Now she must give the people around her no choice, no option except to kill her quickly.

Her delicate hand is steady upon her wand. No-one is expecting her to attack, so the reaction is delayed as her arm whips up, the "Crucio" rolling off her tongue and colliding with Voldemort's chest.

He screams. Narcissa pours her loathing into the curse; she has heard that these spells are difficult but it is so very easy. Voldemort writhes in pain. The Deatheaters surge forward in a black wave, pummeling her with hexes and curses. Narcissa fights back viciously, using every spell she can think of.

The blonde woman gives no quarter, moving like mercury. She is a silver scythe, the Deatheaters black corn. She has always known how to fight, how to kill. Narcissa feels the heat of magic flowing through her arm as she carves violent patterns in the air and for once the similarities between Narcissa and Bellatrix are laid bare.

People are screaming, the passion in voice and movement contradicting their expressionless masks. Voldemort yells something, but she does not hear it. Blood spatters across her, burning, and there are bodies on the floor. Once, she danced with Lucius here.

The green flash shines in the corner of her eye, and she turns to face it. Narcissa is still casting spells as it splashes against her skull. Bella reaches out convulsively as her sister drops to the bloody wood. Narcissa's unseeing eyes reflect the chandelier, bruises staining pale skin. Her dead mouth is smiling.

Draco will be safe.


End file.
